Page 6 of Sterling Heat

As I pull away no more than an inch, her hand cups my nape, and my head is tugged forward. Our mouths come together once more, eager for another sample. More than a simple taste this time, but the entire cake. One eaten with open lips and seeking tongues.

Fuck. She tastes like lemon and sugar and she’s melting in my mouth. We move and her back lands on the sliver of wall between the front door and the large picture window. Her body presses against mine and the thinness of our T-shirts tells me she’s naked underneath. Her firm swells flatten against my chest and my fingers twitch with the desire to explore.

“You aren’t wearing a bra,” I mutter at her mouth before delving back in for another taste of her.

Against my lips, she mumbles, “It was wet.”

I bet she’s drenched in other ways than a damn rain-soaked dress.

“Next you’re going to tell me you don’t have on underwear.” I swallow her answer with another searing kiss, but she breaks for air and speaks against my lips.

“I’m not.”

The words vibrate straight to my hard-as-a-knife dick.

My hands had been in her hair, digging into the thickness despite the damp waves, but I release her head and slip my fingers inside my sweatshirt on her. Outlining her waist, I lower, eager for the hem of the shirt she wears. My palms are my guide, searching for panty lines. Slowly, I clutch the hem of the tee. I want to touch her. Like a kid told not to reach for the flame on a stove, I’m tempted despite the warning sizzling through me.

This woman could burn me.

I dip underneath the shirt, tickling along the outer side of her upper thighs, cautiously climbing her curves while my fingertips scorch from the heat of her skin.

Fuck, I want her. I want to shuck my jeans and set my dick free to slam into her warmth.

A question douses my desire. Do I really want to take her against the wall of my bakery?

A resounding yes fills my head.

But would she want me?

My mouth stills on her lips. What am I doing? This isn’t what I want from her. She might be a stranger, and while that should be the wrong part, the part that doesn’t feel right is how much I’d like to know her. Be someone to her before I enter her body.

I’m the first person she told she was pregnant.

For a second, the most bizarre thought occurs. I could fuck her, fill her with my seed, and pretend that baby inside her is mine. Logistically, it wouldn’t make sense. Someone else’s sperm has already done the deed.

The thought freezes everything. Time. My breath. My desires.

I’d be a shit dad anyway, and a kid is the last thing I want.

Abruptly, I pull away from her and lower the edge of the shirt without glancing down at her naked center. The struggle is real, but the truth is harsher. She isn’t mine.

My forehead rests on hers and her breath comes heavy and sweet over my face.

“You should go,” I grunt while it’s the opposite of what I want.

Her hands catch my wrists and hold. “Please don’t say this was a mistake.” Her voice breaks. Her eyes are bright. Her lips swollen.

Fuck, I want her mouth again and those lips around my dick. I want to suck and sip at her as well, but she isn’t for me.

She’s a coveted cookie in the jar before dinner. She’ll spoil me, and I wouldn’t be satisfied with only one nibble.

I shake my head, dismissing the idea of that kiss being a mistake. I’m never going to make lemon cake again without thinking of her.

“Maybe you could tell me—”

I cover her lips with a finger then skim over the sweet swell of the lower curve.

There’s nothing to say.